


Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

by TheOlderDixonBoy



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Without Plot, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOlderDixonBoy/pseuds/TheOlderDixonBoy
Summary: Request for “I want you to ride me” with Merle.





	Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

3 a.m. is not a good time to be anywhere but asleep in your bed. It certainly isn’t a good time to be out, still drunk, on a weeknight. And it certainly isn’t a good time to be letting Merle Dixon unbutton your jeans in the back of some old trailer that smells like an ashtray while he’s sucking at your neck.

You really shouldn’t let your hips grind against his after he tears your pants down your legs and you kick them the rest of the way off. Much like you shouldn’t have let him wrap his arm around your shoulders and walk you over to the bar to buy you a drink five hours ago. And you shouldn’t have lifted his shirt off his body and started to kiss and suck and lick every bit of perfect, warm, firm bit of muscle and skin you could reach. It was the same “shouldn’t have” as when you shouldn’t have sat on his lap while you waited for the men to finish their pool game so Merle could show you how to break properly. And it was the same “shouldn’t have” as when you let him bend you over the table and rub his crotch against your ass while he “taught” you how to play pool properly.

You also really shouldn’t have let him roll you over so you were straddling his lap while he tore your shirt over your head. And unbuttoning his jeans and taking his cock out, warm and hard, and the thickest damn thing you’d ever seen, and letting a moan fall from your lips when you felt it twitch in your hand was probably not the most gentile thing to be doing on a Tuesday.

But you didn’t care. You didn’t care when he ran his hands down your body while you tried to not sink the eight ball and told you how fucking good you looked. And you didn’t care when he ran his fingers through your folds and pressed, pinched, rubbed, flicked, and caressed your clit until you were a soaking, moaning, desperate mess in his lap.

The only thing you really cared about was the way he blue eyes darkened when he pulled you further into his lap and told you “I want you to ride me.”

You nodded and sat up so he could guide himself inside you. You settled your hips down and moaned and panted the entire time you felt him fill you up. He was perfect, the length and his girth hitting every part of you just right. Your hips rocked against his, setting a slow, deep, rolling motion with your body that made every nerve in you tingle.

Merle chuckled when you closed your eyes and used his chest to steady yourself, grinding and shifting and rolling your hips on his body. The first time you came, you did so at your own pace, a grin spread over your face as you came undone. The next two times were when Merle grabbed your hips and slammed up into you at his own, relentless pace, looking up at your stunned pleasured face with his jaw clenched and eyes studying yours. His hands reached up and gripped your nipples, tugging your bra down to expose your breasts to him so he could twist and pinch and tug at the sensitive flesh.

When he was done he pulled out of you and told you to stroke him. You did. When he came all over your still shaking thighs he told you to stay like that in his lap for a bit. You did. He looked you over, your and his cum covering your thighs, panting, but still smiling down at him, and he grinned up at you.

He pulled you down to kiss you once before he told you to hop up. Merle led you to the shower and helped you clean yourself off before he had you clean him off. Only when you were clean and dry did you realized just how exhausted you were.

You looked at the clock: 4:30 a.m.

You knew you shouldn’t be kissing Merle Dixon goodnight while he wrapped his arms around your naked body at 4:30 in the morning on a Tuesday, but you didn’t care. There were lots of things you shouldn’t do, but they were always the most fun.


End file.
